Chapter Twelve
Just as Neville was climbing the steps of his townhouse, the noonday sun broke through the fluffy white clouds, casting a stark shadow of the wrought-iron fence over his path.
He was simultaneously surprised and pleased at how much he’d already accomplished.
He’d met with a solicitor to finalize the marriage settlements, obtained the necessary special license from the Archbishop of Canterbury, and secured a vicar for the ceremony.
On the other hand, as he handed off his coat to his butler, he barely managed a mumbled greeting before heading straight for his bed chamber. The morning had been devilishly hectic, and the night, gripping.
If all went as he’d planned, slumber would be the last thing on his mind tonight.
He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.
Sometime later, light slanting through his window roused him back to consciousness. He squinted, his eyes adjusting to the interior. Surely, a few minutes more wouldn’t hurt. He rolled onto his side. His lids drifted closed. But then, a startling bang and clatter left him wide awake.
His mother stood in the doorway of his bedchamber, cheeks pale and eyes wide.
“Mother!” Thank God he’d left his shirt on!
She rushed to his side, coming to her knees. “Is it true?”
He stared at her, completely baffled by her question.
She couldn’t possibly have heard of his impending marriage. The only people who knew were Asquith, a few distinguished members of the clergy and law, and those who had been at Harbury House this morning.
Asquith, for his part, wouldn’t have breathed a word. The clerks at Doctor’s Commons were known to be discreet. The Archbishop himself was hardly slander-prone, the solicitor’s confidentiality was required by law, and Harbury’s knocker was off.
How had she found out?
“Honestly!” She huffed. “I don’t see how you can sit there looking so perplexed. You know Harbury is at death’s door, somehow everyone but me knew you were by his side all through the night. I thought you told me you were going to propose to a lady!”
“Ah.” Now, he understood why she’d burst into his bedchamber. “So word of Harbury’s illness has spread. Excellent!”
Her jaw dropped. “Excellent?!”
She rose to her feet, folded her arms and gave him a look that would have made him quake in his boots, had he been wearing any.
“I’ve been half out of my mind! Harbury has never been seriously ill. And now, so I am told, he is sick enough to have called in the family solicitor. I have even heard he has requested the presence of a vicar!”
“Yes. I know.” He pressed his thumb and forefingers to his brow. “I’d expected word to spread, but not at inferno speed. Then again, dukes are a rare commodity…the golden geese of gossip, I suppose. That is fuel to the fire.”
“Ambrose! Why are you so irritatingly unconcerned? You know that If Harbury should die, the dukedom would pass out of my father’s line.”
Neville half-smiled. “No worry for Harbury himself, then?”
“Of course, I’m worried for Edward.” She pursed her lips. “He’s my favorite nephew.”
“He’s your only nephew.”
Her eyes widened, she inhaled, and her whole body stiffened as if she were about to deliver a blistering scold. He reached out and grabbed her arm, hoping to prevent an angry reply.
“Forgive me,” he said urgently and under his breath, ever mindful the new footman might be lurking about. “I haven’t had much sleep.” And maybe some of Millie’s penchant for teasing was rubbing off on him, too. “I will tell you everything. But first, close the door.”
She studied him with narrowed eyes, and then, with a slight huff, did as he asked. Then, she came back and sat down on the bedside. “So you do share my suspicions about Mark?”
Acceding, he nodded. “I’ve asked the family solicitor to check the references he gave. And you may cease worrying, Harbury is as healthy as ever.”
“Thank heavens.” She placed her hand against her chest. “What is going on, then?”
Where should he start? “Last night, I told you that the man behind the plot against John nearly ruined a lady. And I also told you I intended to ask that lady to marry me.”
“Yes…” she drew out the word. “And then, somehow, you ended up at Harbury House instead.” She frowned, and then, suddenly, her brow cleared. “Is the lady the duke’s young sister-in-law? The one who left the theater with Sarah over word of Harbury’s illness?”
“Lud!” He drew back in surprise. “The biddies have been bandying this morning!”
His mother straightened, indignant. “I kindly request that you be a little less dismissive. Certainly, taking joy in the misfortunes of others is abhorrent, as is spreading false and malicious tales, but concern is natural, especially for a young, newly married duke. Harbury’s friends and neighbors are concerned about his health.
Would you rather they hold him in uncaring contempt? ”
He pursed his lips, chagrined. She was right. “Mother, I owe you an apology. I should have realized people would come to you seeking word of Harbury. Of course, they would. He is your nephew. And I should have known you would be deeply concerned when they did.”
“Yes, you should,” she said, though her gaze softened. “Although I appreciate the mea culpa, your mind, I suppose, was on your lady. But if Harbury is not ill, why did he call for the family solicitor, not to mention a clergyman?”
“The reason we gave the solicitor was that Harbury wished to update his will. Not because he thinks he’s dying, although we knew that would be assumed. But because there is a very good chance Harbury will have an heir apparent, soon.”
“Wonderful!” She clapped her hands and placed them in front of her lips. “But you said, ‘the reason we gave.’ Was there another reason, too?”
“Marriage settlements,” he explained. “For Millicent and me.”
“So you did ask. And she said yes.”
He inclined his head. “I listened to you last night. And I promise you I do love her, and I will do my best to be a good husband.”
“Darling, I know you will.” Impulsively, she gripped his hand. “But tell me she loves you, too!”
“Possibly.” His mouth twisted into a tight, self-mocking facsimile of a smile. “Eventually? The truth is, I don’t know. But do know I trust her. And I know she trusts me, too.”
“Anyone would!” his mother exclaimed loyally.
Indeed? “The marriage is to take place this afternoon, thus the Vicar. All our posturing neatly covered by Harbury’s ‘illness.’”
“Have you procured a special license?”
He nodded.
“That must have been dear!”
“Not as ‘dear’ as she is to me.”
She studied him with a long, tender gaze. “You’ve taken care of everything, I see.”
“Just as my father would have?” he suggested.
“Say that a great deal, do I?” She lifted and dropped her shoulders. “As it happens, in this case, you owe your efficiency to my side of the family.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I’m glad I’m more than just like my father.”
“I never meant to suggest you were nothing more than a facsimile. You are, and always have been, your own person.”
That, at least, was something.
She sighed deeply. “I’m quite impressed, you know. I was certain the gossip must be true. Word has Harbury hours from death.”
He snorted. “Perhaps the solicitor felt himself free to gossip about Harbury’s state. Cassie applied a liberal amount of face powder. And Harbury kept disappearing behind a screen to retch most appallingly.”
“That little termagant!” Her eyes sparkled. “I’m not surprised. The tricks he and Adrian used to pull!” She chuckled to herself. “Drove his father quite to distraction. Served my brother right, too. His precious rules brought on most of his aggravation.”
“I daresay you are correct.” In the last few days, Neville had learned a thing or two about insisting on too many rules.
“But what of John’s problems?” She placed her hand against his arm. “Have you heard anything yet? I’d like to be of help.”
He never would have confided in her before. But he’d done so last night. And if he was to be the man he wanted to be for Millicent, he’d have to work very hard to make sure he didn’t slip back into bad habits.
Besides, she already had been of help.
“I believe Lord Willard is the man behind the plot against John.” He told her the full truth. “He certainly tried his best to ruin Millicent Wainwright last night.”
“Lord Willard?! But he always seemed like the perfect gentleman.”
“Not to those who know him best.”
“What do you mean, ‘tried his best?’”
“The esteemed Viscount Willard drugged his mother, efficiently disposed of her as chaperone, and arranged to have himself caught alone with Miss Wainwright. Fortunately, Millie had the presence of mind to escape. Then, Harris, the theater manager, Sarah, and I joined together, along with the help of Sarah’s friends, to come up with a plausible way to remove Millie from the theater before anyone could hear she’d been alone with Willard. Thus, Harbury’s illness.”
She stared in shock as she parsed everything he’d said. Finally, she sighed. “I’d expect such subterfuge from Sarah, but you?”
He smiled wryly. “The crisis called for drastic action. Believe me, Millie was in grave danger, else I would not have been so dishonest. Williard had no good intentions. And I had just learned that Temperence and Millicent were not his only victims.”
Slowly, his mother nodded. “Well, if you believe he is capable of such atrocities, then he must be capable.”
Her conviction warmed him. He hadn’t known how strongly she valued his judgement.
Or, for that matter, how he much he had desired her trust.
“Drugged Lady Eltenham…” She said thoughtfully. “Lord Eltenham is going to be furious when he finds out.”
“I considered that possibility myself. However, Eltenham strikes me as the sort whose heir can do no wrong.”
“Oh, he is one to close ranks against the outside world. He wouldn’t care a whit how many laws Willard broke—laws are for lesser men. But disrespecting his mother in such a way? Seducing a gently bred lady in a public place?” Slowly she shook her head. “Eltenham would feel humiliated!”
She was right!